


recurrence

by antineutrinos



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Death, Kinky, M/M, Smut, deathplay, dunno if death play exists but it does now, handjob, i don’t know how to tag, violence???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 05:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos
Summary: “Everything that’s happened between us... all the bombings, the phone calls, they were all just...”“Foreplay, Sherlock.”





	recurrence

**Author's Note:**

> set sometime during season two.
> 
> hugs to bella for being unbelievably amazing <3
> 
> also I would LOVE any feedback or constructive criticism or just anything you have to say about this. please. trying to improve n all 
> 
> warning for some brief non-graphic descriptions of violence. 
> 
> thank you x

“Tell me how you would kill me,” Sherlock says. He lies flat on the bed, naked, bed sheets discarded on the floor. 

Jim looks up from between Sherlock’s legs, where he had been pressing teasing kisses to the inside of Sherlock’s thighs. “What,” he spits, eyes half lidded but getting wider as he processes the words. There’s spite in his words, and Sherlock remembers how Jim hates to be interrupted in matters such as these. But the spite fades into attention as Jim listens, properly, to Sherlock’s request. 

“Tell me how you would kill me,” Sherlock repeats, his Adam’s apple moving and bobbing as he swallows. 

Jim snorts, mouth tilting up into a wicked smile. “Are you sure you _really_ want to know the answer to that,” he says, no trace of boyishness or charm in his voice. Just danger. His eyes never leave Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock can’t steady his breathing. “Tell me.” The words are barely audible. A feeling Sherlock can’t name builds in his stomach. It feels like nerves, or anxiety. Anticipation. Fear, maybe. 

Moriarty starts moving up Sherlock’s body, slowly. Trailing his hands anywhere he can. The curves and contours and corners. Eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. Predatory. 

“I would cut you,” he whispers the words against the skin just below Sherlock’s ear. “I would cut every single inch of you, just so I could watch you bleed.” He licks a line down from Sherlock’s ear to the base of Sherlock’s neck. 

Sherlock shudders but he smiles, sardonic. Breathless. “Is that all?”

Moriarty’s eyes flick back up to meet Sherlock’s again. He feels so agonizingly aroused he can barely breathe. 

“I would fuck you so hard you would beg me to kill you. And then I would fuck you harder, Sherlock. Darling.”

His hands move to hold Sherlock’s throat. They stroke it tenderly, and Jim kisses his jugular. “And I would suffocate you. _Choke_ you. And you couldn’t ask for death this time, no.”

He adds the barest amount of pressure to Sherlock’s neck. Squeezing and squeezing. Sherlock’s hands fly up to rest on Jim’s which rest on his throat. Sherlock can hear the blood in his ears, and he makes a noise but it’s closer to a moan than a cry for help. His eyes roll back into his head, and he sees stars with the name ‘Jim Moriarty’ tattooed on them. 

He hears Jim laughing, and then Sherlock can breathe again. 

“Did you enjoy that, sweetheart? God. I wouldn’t _actually_ kill you. No, too soon for that. See, after I cut you and fuck you and choke you, I think I would...”

He reaches down between Sherlock’s legs and Sherlock throws his head back against the headboard. 

“What would you like me to do, Sherlock? Because I know what I would do.”

He moves his hand, slowly, but it doesn’t matter. Sherlock has been so strung out for so long that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t smoked in forever, or done drugs in forever. He doesn’t need to, when Jim Moriarty is just as good and comes without the immediate health risks. 

Sherlock groans, and Jim bites Sherlock’s lip. “See, Sherlock, to finish you off... I think I would just leave you in a room with some cases to solve. That way I could watch you work. Dancing your little dance. And when you’ve solved those cases, I’ll give you more. And when you’ve solved those, I’ll leave you there.”

Sherlock is amazingly close. Effortlessly close. He can’t focus on anything other than this feeling and this voice. This person who knows the inside of him and his mind like no other. Who understands him like no other. Brimmed with darkness but unrelentingly sexy. 

“I will leave you there with nothing and with no one. And that way, my lovely, I won’t even have to do anything. You’ll kill yourself and I won’t have to lift a finger.”

Sherlock cums. Eyes shut, head thrown back. The bed shakes with him. Jim just smiles, tracing lines down Sherlock’s body. He licks the cum from his hand and kisses Sherlock so they can both taste it. 

Jim stays on top of him, but he looks softer now. He cradles Sherlock’s head and twists his fingers into Sherlock’s hair. 

“God, how I’d love to cut you open. Your skeleton will be a beautiful one, you know,” he says, pressing a delicate kiss to the tops of Sherlock’s lips. 

Sherlock, who is still coming down, exhales. It’s shaky and uncertain. He thinks of all the autopsies he’s seen. All the dead bodies and coroner’s reports and body bags. 

He imagines the day it’s Jim Moriarty’s body lying on that cold slab in the morgue. 

Sherlock smiles. “So will yours.”


End file.
